


you gave me a pet name (which is not to say i like it)

by caelzorah, hyoidbone, IllustriousHam, simonsaysfunction



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Multi, i hope you're all ready for a bunch of terrible nicknames because we have a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-15 04:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caelzorah/pseuds/caelzorah, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyoidbone/pseuds/hyoidbone, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllustriousHam/pseuds/IllustriousHam, https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonsaysfunction/pseuds/simonsaysfunction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa does not understand Skaikru terms of endearment but apparently Clarke loves them. </p><p>or</p><p>Octavia is a little shit and eventually gets hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Trash Knights' production.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Trash Knights' Production.

“…so basically it’s a pet name because it’s a cute way of reminding them of your favourite part of them.”

Octavia gestures as she speaks, fighting the urge to laugh at Lexa’s intense expression. She hadn’t expected her leader to take the bait, but here the Commander was, hanging off her every word.

“And Clarke loves them.” Octavia nods hurriedly, ignoring Bellamy’s confused expression from across the way.

Lexa’s eyes narrow as she considers the second’s words. It makes sense. Her feelings for Clarke are such that merely saying her name often doesn’t feel like enough. Clarke should be told that she is special to her; this pet name may help. With a brief smile, she inclines her head toward Octavia in thanks, who – somewhat curiously – turns her head away.

“Thank you for your advice, Octavia. Indra will be expecting you back with the other seconds. I suggest you hurry back.”

She watches Octavia bow her head respectfully and turn on her heel, practically sprinting away, before Lexa returns to her tent, brow furrowed in thought. The suggestion of a pet name is a new thought to the commander, and yet it takes root and leaves Lexa mentally sifting through every striking feature that Clarke possesses in an effort to decide a term of affection that will best suit her. She sits on the edge of her bed and worries her bottom lip with her teeth as she thinks, one finger twisting around a loose braid at the base of her neck. This decision will take some time.

The decision comes to her suddenly, as the pair: Clarke and Lexa, are seated together at lunch later that day. The sun breaks through the shade in the trees and streams down to douse their table in light, dazzling everyone. But Clarke - she looks radiant. Positively glowy. Lexa swallows – her throat feels thick and she is reminded of how she felt after a few cups of the lanky Sky boy’s liquid concoction at their last celebration - that’s it!

Blinking dazedly, Lexa finds Octavia three seats away; the girl meets her gaze with a grin and double thumbs up. ‘ _Of course_ ,’ Lexa thinks. ‘ _Clarke loves these_.’

“Clarke.” Very serious.

“Hm?” Clarke mumbles, mid-chew, stopping to wash it down with a drink.

“You are my moonshine.”

A beat, and then Clarke sprays her water directly into Lexa’s face through laughter, while Lincoln simultaneously performs an emergency Heimlich on a wheezing Octavia (who pounds loudly at the table with one fist and wipes at the tears streaming down her face with the other).

Clarke leans into Lexa as she calms down, taking her face in her hands, thumbs wiping experimentally across the Commander’s cheekbones. Lexa’s eye makeup is trailing more than usual, and her jaw is tight – unforgiving. Her eyes blaze. Clarke smirks and lays a kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you, my little warrior raccoon.”


	2. Chapter 2

They’re at the war table looking over maps. The Alliance has solidified entirely since their victory in the battle against Mount Weather, and – with Tondc turned to rubble and both Skaikru and Trigedakru desperate for decent shelter and food stores in the coming winter – they are now stuck debating integration. Clarke has been writing down plans for the Sky People’s part of the expansion, and Lexa – camping out in the woods by Camp Jaha with every other Grounder turned nomad by the war – has been sharing her own ideas with consideration to the Trigedakru. Thus far they’ve made great progress and had little problem from either side.

Clarke looks over to Lexa, watches the way the shadows from the candles flicker. She clears her throat to draw the other woman’s attention.

“I should head back to the Ark before nightfall, run the plans by the rest of the Council.”

Lexa nods and grabs her blade from the table.

 “I shall accompany you to the gate.”

Clarke does not fight her on this – Lexa often walks her to the Ark when she has to stay there the night. The Commander is evidently uncomfortable baring the depth of her emotion in front of her followers, and escorting Clarke home is one of her favorite forms of stoic affection. They leave Lexa’s tent and make their way through the Grounder camp in silence, mostly ignoring the bowed heads that greet them along the way. As they approach the gate their hands gently graze and Lexa looks to Clarke.

“Will you return tonight, or are you planning to stay there?” the Commander asks.

“If it’s not late I’ll come back. I don’t want to wake you.”

Lexa tips her head closer to Clarke’s, attempting to prevent others from hearing: “I would like to be woken by you.”

A blush makes its up Clarkes neck.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll meet you at your tent. It shouldn’t be too late, I don’t think there’s going to be much issue with the plans.”

“Very well,” Lexa says with a nod, and then she is very much back to business. “I shall gather my people and go over our side of things. The plans are solid; I am sure they will concede. Preparations must begin before winter, but time is on our side.”

 “I agree,” Clarke reaches out, gently grabbing Lexa’s coat; the Commander smiles gently and cups Clarke’s cheek in return. “But don’t you be at it too late, either - you need your rest as well.”

“Do not worry schnooky lumps, I will await you at our tent.”

The Commander softly kisses her, then turns and strides away, leaving Clarke imbalanced and more than a little confused. She disappears into the mess of Trigedakru tents before Clarke gets herself in order and properly comprehends the words that touched her ears.

“Wait, what? LEXA!!” she calls, but the Commander is already gone. Clarke hears a noise to her left; searching it out she finds Octavia hiding between two tents by the gate, biting her fist to contain her laughter. “OCTAVIA, I _SWEAR_!”

Between chuckles the warrior coos: “Aww, is ' _schnooky lumps_ ' angry?”

Clarke storms past her into Camp Jaha. Ridiculous – the both of them.

“Not another word!”


	3. Chapter 3

So, apparently, Lexa’s got this thing about pet names. This would be fine, Clarke thinks, if they were a little less – well, embarrassing. The first time it was kind of funny. The second time it was slightly mortifying, but Clarke could laugh it off after the fact. But the thing about it is – the _problem_ is – it keeps happening.

They manage to wrangle an afternoon free from their duties to go to the lake with Clarke’s friends and the few Trigedakru Lexa trusts to teach them to swim without insult. Clarke is cautious of the water – not shocking considering the last time when she almost drowned – and Lexa teases her and helps to free a very reluctant Clarke of her jacket and jeans and nudges her towards the tide.

“Think less of it as a skill and more as a pastime. Swimming can be as much about fun as survival,” the Commander tells her. “We all start somewhere. First you will paddle like a hound, then stroke like a learned human.” When Clarke meets her with only further hesitation she smirks and says: “Fear not, schmoopie – I will not let you drown.”

Clarke is struck dumb by it – blinking, open-mouthed and searching for words. Somewhere behind them Octavia is absolutely cackling. Before she can adequately comb through her vocabulary for the right words to express her exasperation Bellamy walks up behind her, yanks her off the ground and over his shoulder, and runs them both into the water with a booming laugh. She’s so confused about Lexa’s term of endearment that she can hardly even muster the will to be indignant about it.

Days later, Lexa kisses her goodbye to go on a hunting trip and whispers, “I shall return shortly, my dumpling,” in parting. Clarke spends five minutes staring after her with her cheek bitten between her teeth and her brow furrowed, trying to remember how to say words other than ' _what_ ' and ' _the_ ' and ' _hell_ '.

Their relationship was doing just _fine_ without these absurd nicknames – and, worse, Clarke doesn’t know where the Commander is even _getting_ the damn things. They’re clearly not a part of her natural vocabulary. If they were more romantic - less food references and saccharine nonsense terms ripped straight out of the 1970s - maybe Clarke could live with it, but, well, they're not.

“There’s something we need to discuss,” Clarke says by the fire one evening after Lexa has spent the day affectionately calling her ' _crumpet_ '. She earns an alarmed stare for the phrase. “Nothing bad. But privately.”

“Of course, sweetness,” Lexa says, and Clarke has to pause and consider the name and how ultimately _not_ terrible it is. Not that it’s great or anything, but - well, it’s certainly an improvement. It’s a relieving moment.

Lexa stands and parts from their group of friends, turning to walk back towards her tent, straight-backed and sure in her stride. Half encased in shadow beside the fire, Octavia turns to Raven and mouths “sweetness” with a sarcastic smile – and Clarke knows _exactly_ where Lexa has picked up this terrible habit.

“Come along, sugar biscuit,” the Commander calls back over her shoulder, and the moment's over.

Octavia tries to muffle her laughter and fails; Clarke heaves a long sigh.


	4. Chapter 4

“Look,” Octavia tells her when she asks in the afternoon, standing out on the training fields and watching her warriors spar, “I get that you’re doubtful, Commander – but honestly, I’ve known Clarke a lot longer than you –”

“Perhaps a month,” Lexa corrects idly.

“– a month longer than you,” Octavia continues, unbothered, “and I think that makes me just a little more qualified to say what she does or does not want from an intimate relationship.”

She pauses and seems to consider her phrasing. Lexa gives her a hard stare and the young warrior blinks.

“Because she _told_ me,” she says. Lexa’s eyes narrow, and the young girl fidgets and hazards to clarify. “Platonically. In friendly conversation between _friends_. Girls that happen to be completely non-romantic associates. Colleagues. Buddies. Pals.”

Apparently realising she is doing herself no favours, Octavia bites her tongue. They stare at each other in silence for a long moment before Lexa scowls and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Nonetheless,” she grumbles, “Clarke’s response to these ‘pet names’ of yours has been – thus far – underwhelming.”

“No worries, Heda,” Octavia says, clapping her on the shoulder roughly. Lexa is sure this is an expression of friendship in their culture, but knowledge doesn’t stop the tic of her brow. “This is Clarke _‘everyone-comes-before-me-and-no-one-can-think-I’m-weak-or-even-remotely-girly’_ Griffin we’re talking about. She adores nicknames; she’ll just never admit it to you out loud. And it’s _all_ about the timing. Right name, right time – she’ll love it, trust me!”

“When is the _right time_?” Lexa asks stiffly.

“Couldn’t tell you. It’s like saying ‘I love you’ for the first time,” Octavia says conversationally. If she notices the stiffening of Lexa’s shoulder beneath her hand she knows better than to mention it. “It’s different for everyone. Maybe that’s in casual conversation, or when you’re alone, or when you’re being _intimate_ … It’s a case-by-case basis, really.”

“That is entirely unhelpful,” the Commander says.

“If you don’t know the right time,” Octavia tells her lightly, “try them all!”

Lexa purses her lips to ponder the suggestion and nods – just barely – when she deems it satisfactory. Octavia is not wrong – she has known Clarke longer and in such a different capacity, and there are undoubtedly things Clarke would discuss with her friends but not with her partner. If pet names are truly a cultural ritual that Clarke values in the quiet depths of her heart – well, Lexa is nothing if not a willing partner.

“I will take this into consideration. Thank you, Octavia,” she says. When the girl makes no indication towards moving, Lexa huffs out: “You may remove your hand from my pauldron now.”

Octavia jerks her hand back to her side and awkwardly laughs as she sidles away.

Later – when Clarke squints at her across the fire and asks to speak with her privately – Lexa debates Octavia’s words and (perhaps heedlessly) decides to accept them. She leads Clarke into her tent, and leans against the table to wait for her, playing at casual. Historically speaking, nothing _good_ generally comes out of the words _‘we need to talk’_ , but Clarke assured her that it was nothing _bad_ this time and Lexa elects to trust her.

“So,” Clarke starts somewhat cautiously when she strides in and the tent flap falls closed behind her. She stops more than a metre away from Lexa, arms crossed over her chest – and that is not a particularly good sign. “I’ve noticed that you have recently taken to using some rather curious language in my presence. In regards to me, specifically.”

“Are you mad at me?” Lexa asks simply, just to get it out of the way, and frowns. When Clarke tilts her head, Lexa holds out a hand. “Then come here. I would not converse with you over needless distance.”

Clarke smiles wryly and shakes her head, but steps forward and into Lexa’s arms, backing her up properly against the table.

“They’re silly,” Clarke says when their thighs are brushing and her arms are loose around the Commander’s neck, fingers interlocked behind her head. Lexa tilts her head in query. “Your _pet names_ , Lexa. You cannot tell me they feel proper on your tongue.”

“They do not. This does not mean that they _will_ not,” Lexa promises. After all – if it is important to Clarke…

She smiles and pulls Clarke in by the hips to drop a light kiss at the corner of her frowning lips. When the blonde hums thoughtfully she follows it with another.

“Octavia told me it is more a matter of finding the right one,” she says between nips, “at the right time.”

“That may be the least offensive advice she ever gives you,” Clarke tells her idly, and Lexa kisses her again before she can say anything else – if in fact she is intending on saying anything else at all. From the ease with which she relinquishes herself to Lexa’s lips – tracking down the blonde’s jaw, now, and relishing every second of it – the Commander thinks she may have been done with breaching the topic anyway.

And if that’s the case then Octavia is clearly right, and Clarke is obviously entirely into this ridiculous pet name custom – and not at all willing to admit it. That’s fine, Lexa thinks, because this is a moment that is both _intimate_ and _alone_ , and Octavia gave her another dozen possibilities earlier in the day. When her lips find their way to Clarke’s ear – and Clarke is twisting fingers through Lexa’s hair and tugging gently at her braids and _oh_ , that feels _wonderful_ – she tries for seductive and whispers:

“Would you spend the night with me, honey bun?”

The cold of Clarke’s sudden absence from her hold is jarring. Clarke, on her part, looks to be caught between wild laughter and some kind of pained grimace – and Lexa can only watch, indignant, as the blonde pinches at the bridge of her nose and turns away.

“ _So_ not the right time, Lexa.”


End file.
